An Icy December Night of Neglect and Deception
Outside, darkness thickened over the chilly December evening, enveloping an aging, dilapidated house where tension filled every corner. Inside the kitchen, on a linoleum floor stained and long unwashed, three small children huddled tightly together, resembling fledglings nesting for warmth and safety. Their eyes, hungry and hopeful, were fixed on the narrow gap of the kitchen door. Silently, they watched their mother Lesya mechanically stirring a humble pot of Olivier salad, as if straining to extract more nourishment than it could ever offer. The scent of lingering oil and yesterday’s onions hung in the room, yet the children’s appetite was absent—only cold, hunger, and anxious waiting gripped them. When would their mother call them to the table? When might the celebration truly begin?
Suddenly, a harsh voice shattered the quiet.
“Hey! What are you doing here, like rats in a hole?” barked Uncle Igor, a tall, bent figure clad in a worn sweatshirt, carrying the stench of alcohol. He flung open the door and glared down at the kids. “Get out to your room! Don’t you see the adults are busy?”
Stumbling heavily against the doorframe, he entered the kitchen and peered into the pots, his face darkening further.
“What kind of joy are we supposed to have?” he grunted, poking the salad with disgust. “Olivier, potatoes, and sour cabbage… this is a funeral feast, not a celebration.”
Lesya, thin and disheveled, eyes dull and spirit broken, sighed sharply.
“It’s not just the Olivier I was preparing…” she murmured, glancing around to ensure the children couldn’t see. Then, as if smuggling contraband, she pulled from her battered bag a thick, pink sausage stick.
“I bought this… but it’s not enough for everyone. And for the kids, it’s harmful—too fatty and salty… I also got some vodka, to lift the mood, you know?”
Igor smirked, his eyes gleaming.
“Wow, Lesya! That’s something! I also got something—some mandarins and candy. Nabbed them at the store without anyone noticing!”
Their laughter was forced, stretched thin like old rubber. Behind this pretense lay a bitter truth: they were destitute. Igor had no job, surviving for months on meager welfare. Lesya received child benefits, but that money melted away into bottles, snacks, and cheap tobacco. Their existence was bleak, monotonous, and empty.
They had met recently—two broken souls drawn together by misfortune. Igor had left his wife, unable to endure his drinking and constant fights. Lesya too found solace in vodka, a refuge from reality, from her children’s cries and loneliness. Like attracts like. However, their three young children were a burdensome reminder. They longed for romance, passion, and fun— for a celebration as a couple—but their lives were filled with crying, dirty socks, and endless pleas of “Mom, give me… Mom, I’m cold…”
“Maybe… we could send them somewhere for New Year’s? Even just for a few hours…” Igor suddenly proposed, squinting thoughtfully.
Lesya thought for a moment.
“Where? To whom? I have no relatives or friends… No one to watch them.”
Then she slapped her forehead.
“Got it! The barn! They’ll get fresh air! At least it’s quiet there…”
Igor nodded approvingly.
Children Locked Outside in the Freezing Night
Moments later, Igor stood in the doorway of the children’s room, where the kids played with bits of string and empty boxes on a worn sofa.
“Hey! Who wants to be one of Santa’s guards?” he announced theatrically. “He’s on his way! But he’ll only come to those who stay alert outside!”
The children froze.
“Can we stay with Mom?” whispered six-year-old Vanya, clutching the hands of his younger siblings.
“No!” Igor snapped sharply. “Only true guards! If you don’t go, Santa won’t come at all!”
Then crying and whimpering erupted.
“It’s cold… Mom, I don’t want to…”
“I said go!” he barked, grabbing each child’s hand and literally pushing them outside.
Outside, biting wind and a snowstorm harshly greeted them. Dressed in thin sweaters and torn jackets, the children shivered like leaves on a dying tree. Igor led them to the barn—old, creaking, with a leaky roof and moldy walls.
“Sit here!” he ordered. “Behave well, and I’ll bring you presents!”
He tossed in a pack of cheap biscuits—not as a treat but more akin to dog food—then slammed the door shut. The latch clicked.
Inside, the barn was dark, damp, and piercingly cold. The children clung to one another, seeking warmth. At first, hope lingered; Vanya, five-year-old Alenka, and three-year-old Sasha whispered, “Santa will come… he won’t forget us… he will save us…”
But as hours passed, the freezing air gripped their bodies tighter. Fingers turned blue.
“Mom!” Vanya screamed, pounding the door desperately. “Mom, we’re freezing!”
Their cries echoed, but inside the house was warmth.
On the kitchen table, Lesya and Igor sat laughing and joking, bottle and plate with sausage and mandarins before them, lost in their drunken revelry. The children were now an irritation—mere background noise to their New Year’s indulgence.
“Almost midnight!” declared Igor, raising his glass. “To us! To freedom!”
The Arrival of the Real Santa Claus
At that moment, a knock came at the door.
“Who’s that?” Igor frowned.
“I don’t know…” Lesya whispered, hastily wrapping herself in a robe.
They opened the door and froze.
Standing on the doorstep was a real Santa Claus — dressed in red with a long white beard and a sack slung over his shoulder.
“We didn’t order you!” Lesya blurted.
“And we have no money to pay,” Igor added, looking around as if searching for something to offer.
“Everything’s already paid,” Santa said calmly. “I came bearing gifts. Where are your children?”
Lesya’s face lit up instantly.
“Oh! Gifts? We have three! Bring them all here!”
“No,” Santa replied sternly. “Presents are only given directly to children.”
Losely flustered, she said, “They’re… in the room…” She went to check the children’s room. It was empty. A sudden realization struck her.
“Igor!” she whispered urgently. “Where are the kids?”
Igor went pale.
“Oops… I forgot…”
He dashed outside to the barn and opened the door. Only soggy biscuits and traces of tears remained on the floor.
“They’re not here!” he whispered, trembling as he returned.
Frantic, Lesya ran out and searched every nook and cranny near the barn. No children were found.
“Where did they go?” she screamed.
Igor arrived, equally shocked and confused.
“I locked them here! Where could they have gone?”
Suddenly, the barn door slammed shut with a loud bang. The latch clicked again.
“Is this a joke?” Lesya shouted, pounding on the door.
“Sit here for now,” came a familiar voice, “while I celebrate the New Year.”
A Father’s Heroic Intervention and Justice Served
“Have you lost your mind?! We’ll freeze to death!”
“Did you care about your children when you left them to freeze in the barn?” Santa removed his beard, revealing himself as Stas — Lesya’s former husband and the father of the children.
“You…” Lesya whispered.
“I came to wish my children a happy holiday,” Stas said quietly but with a fierce coldness. “Then I heard their cries for help. I opened the barn door and took them away. Took them to the hospital. They suffered frostbite but were lucky to get help on time.”
Without looking back, he left.
Several hours later, young men searching with flashlights heard banging from the barn. They opened the door to find Lesya and Igor trembling inside, faces twisted with terror.
At dawn, Lesya rushed to the police to report her children missing, but there was an unexpected twist.
Someone had already filed a report — against her.
Stas pursued legal action through child protection services and succeeded in having Lesya’s parental rights revoked.
“Enough is enough,” he said, “cold, hunger, neglect…”
He took the children to live with his mother, a kind woman with warm hands, a loving home filled with the aroma of baked pies and laughter.
Later, Stas met a woman — a strong, compassionate soul who embraced his children as her own and a few years later gave them two sisters: cherished, happy, and loved.
And Lesya?
She faced the hard reality of working to support herself, earn a salary, buy food, and drink less, for the child benefits were no longer hers.
Each New Year’s Eve, she recalls that frozen night — the barn, the cries, and the face of Santa Claus who turned out to be her past and the symbol of justice.
Key Insight: This tragic story reveals how neglect and substance abuse can devastate families and highlights the importance of responsible parenting and legal intervention to protect vulnerable children.
Ultimately, the safety and well-being of children must always come first, and society bears responsibility to ensure their care and protection against neglectful guardians.